


Strangers

by lesnuffles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesnuffles/pseuds/lesnuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger smiled. “It’s been a while, Sherlock.”<br/>The detective waited a moment, then closed his mouth and turned toward John.<br/>“John, this is Victor Trevor, an old friend of mine from university.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers.

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like writing some cute, harmless Viclock, because yes, that's what the world needs.  
> Hope you'll enjoy!

###  _Chapter One - Strangers._

“Fame” had always been a difficult concept for John Watson; it was something far  
from him that just happened to be related to the hit count on his blog or being  
around his strange flatmate when he was called on a case.

In the last few months, John had learned what it meant to be followed by a few  
journalists trying to get exclusive pictures of him—preferably with Sherlock, or the  
increasing number of clients at Baker Street asking for their help.

So, when the doorbell rang in the middle of a lazy, warm April afternoon, he had no  
reason to be surprised. Annoyed, yes. Sherlock had locked himself in his room doing  
god knew what, and John himself was sat comfortably in his armchair next to the  
fireplace. John stood with a sigh and knocked on Sherlock’s door to warn him of  
their visitor, but when the detective didn’t come out of his room, John took matters  
in his own hands and opened the front door himself.

The man in front of him was quite tall and thin, dressed in a long, beige trenchcoat.  
His hair, somewhere between blond and ginger, was curly. His attempt to slick it  
down with hair gel was rendered useless against the dampness of London.

He stood in the doorway for a minute before greeting John with a shy smile. “Good  
afternoon,” he said courteously, betraying just a bit of impatience. “John Watson,  
right? I read your blog.”

“Yeah, thanks.” John’s reply was automatic. He was still giving the man a once-over.  
He was a stark difference from their usual visitors, who seemed to consist mostly of  
emotional housewives; old, greedy businessmen; and a large number of teenagers  
who just wanted a glimpse of the famous Sherlock Holmes. “And you’re here to…?”

“To see Sherlock, of course.” The stranger smiled at John, then craned his neck to see  
behind him. “Is he here?”

“Yes.” John took a step backwards to let their visitor walk inside. “But I should  
probably warn you, he’s sort of busy at the moment. I’m not sure he’ll be able to  
listen to your—“

The stranger, who had already started up the stairs, turned back with a wide grin.

“Oh, I’m not a client, Dr. Watson. I’m a friend.”

His cheeks turned a light pink with excitement, and he hurried upstairs, leaving John  
confused on the landing. He sighed and followed after the man, who was now calling  
Sherlock’s name. _Who the hell would be that confident?_

When John reached the sitting room, a door unlocked, and Sherlock strode in  
to greet them. “John, who was at the doo—“ He stopped and stared at their new visitor,  
mouth agape.

The stranger smiled. “It’s been a while, Sherlock.”

The detective waited a moment, then closed  his mouth and turned toward John, who  
was frowning, arms crossed.

“John, this is Victor Trevor, an old friend of mine from university,” he explained.

John stuck out a hand toward him. “Oh, right. My pleasure, Mr. Trevor.”

“Victor, please.” He shook John’s hand without even looking at him, his eyes  
exchanging a glance with Sherlock’s. He frowned, clearly let down by the cold  
welcome, but he immediately replaced it with a disappointed smile. “So, thirteen  
years, and you say nothing?”

Sherlock remained silent. John felt he needed to say something before it got out of  
hand.

“So, you two…were at uni together?” he asked, pointing between them. Victor  
nodded, ignoring Sherlock’s attitude for the moment—a wise decision, John thought.

“Yes,” he replied. “Two years, and one more sharing a dorm. You can’t even begin to  
imagine how hellish it wa—“ He stopped himself, smiling in an apology to John. “But  
you live with him now, so you know what it’s like.”

“I think I’ve got an idea, yeah.” John glanced towards Sherlock, who was still  
strangely silent. “I think I should probably pity you, for putting up with him for  
that—“

“Why did you come here, Victor?” Sherlock interrupted. He tilted his head slightly to  
the left, clearly analyzing the visitor, whose smile dropped from his face.

“Ever heard of a courtesy visit?” he asked, a slight trace of bitterness in his voice.  
“You really haven’t changed at all.”

Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin. “And if you didn’t change, either, then  
that is not your only reason for being here. You wouldn’t drop your new teaching  
position right in the middle of exam week merely to say hello.”

Victor looked surprised for a split second, then relaxed into a smile. “You’ve gotten  
better at that, haven’t you?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “I’ve  
always been good.”

“And still incredibly humble, of course,” Victor laughed. He glanced at John and  
rolled his eyes. “Unbearable.”

“You’re telling me,” John replied with a chuckle. Sherlock snorted, annoyed.

“You still didn’t answer, Victor,” he reminded.

“Well, I wanted to compliment you, all right?” Victor grinned. “You made it, didn’t  
you? ‘Consulting detective.’ Just like you told everyone in class, when they asked you  
what you wanted to do. None of us knew what the hell you meant, and you only  
made us more confused than before when you tried to explain it. No one really  
thought you were going to—“

“You did.” Sherlock wasn’t looking at Victor anymore; his gaze was focused instead  
on the wallpaper behind him. “And now you’re just rambling.”

“Right, sorry.” Victor smiled apologetically. “Well, living with you, I knew you’d turn  
into something great, didn’t I? And now you’re on the front page of every newspaper  
in England. It’s amazing.”

The smile on Victor’s face brought a bit of color to Sherlock’s cheeks, the same shade  
John’s compliments caused.

“And you—“ Sherlock cleared his throat. “You came all the way from Sussex to tell  
me that?”

“It also gave me an excuse to run away from the insanity of finals,” Victor laughed.  
But, yes, basically. Someone had to tell you, right? And I was sort of curious to see  
how you were getting on here.”

“Perfectly fine, yes.” Sherlock looked away from Victor again as he stood. “Thank you  
for coming; see you again later.”

Victor looked confused and disappointed. He glanced first at Sherlock, then at John,  
questioning whether he really had to go so soon.

John decided that a trip from Sussex was deserving of a cup of tea. He motioned for  
Sherlock to sit down, and asked Victor to stay for the rest of the afternoon.


	2. Storytellers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor finished his tea and placed the cup back on the tray. “Well, bull’s eye. You got everything right, thought I didn’t think you wouldn’t. Your turn, then. Tell me all about you.”

###  _Chapter Two - Storytellers._

The kettle had just started to boil, but neither Victor nor Sherlock seemed to notice.  
Once again, John was the one who had to go to the kitchen. While he was looking for  
the cups that had mysteriously disappeared—where the hell had Mrs. Hudson put  
them?—Sherlock’s voice filled the flat.  
  
“So, college professor, first year. I suppose you still have an obsession with English  
literature?”  
  
Victor laughed as John carefully poured the tea into three cups.  
  
“Yep, and you’re dying to tell me how you sorted that out,” he said. John grinned.  
Victor knew who he was dealing with.  
  
When John entered the sitting room again, he put the tea tray on the table next to  
Sherlock’s armchair. The detective rolled his eyes.  
  
“Thanks, John.” Victor smiled kindly, reaching for his tea and then turning back to  
Sherlock. “Alright, alright, how did you figure it out? I’m amazed.”  
  
Sherlock took a long sip from his own cup before speaking. “Your bag.” He glanced at  
the briefcase next to Victor’s chair. “It’s new, purchased no more than three months  
ago. Not your style, if I remember correctly, so you bought it for professional  
reasons. What job would fit a case like that? Perhaps one in bureaucracy; however,  
the stitches in the bottom right corner are coming loose, so you are carrying not only  
documents and files, but books, as well. You mentioned you were interested in  
teaching once; this, and your left hand, brought me to that conclusion.”  
  
Victor, who had been listening to the speech raptly and with a small smile on his lips,  
looked down at his hand questioningly.  
  
“Remnants of red ink and an almost undetectable callus on your index finger,”  
Sherlock explained, his eyes fixed on Victor’s hand. “You have been writing quite a  
lot recently, and very few jobs still involve the use of handwriting—which is, of  
course, necessary when grading papers. The red ink, and the presumably large  
amount of corrections makes college more probable than university. Furthermore,  
that bag is not wide enough to contain the necessities for a couple of days in London.  
You already left your suitcase in a hotel room, but you brought this case with you to  
review papers. Why?”  
  
“Why?” John asked automatically.  
  
“Clearly you felt—“  
  
Sherlock stopped for a moment, finally looking up. His gaze rested on John, who had  
the same frowning expression he had when he was trying to follow one of Sherlock’s  
deductions. Victor’s head was tilted to the side, a tiny smile on his face as he held his  
cup of tea halfway up, waiting for the rest of the speech. When Sherlock looked at  
him, it seemed he had lost his voice, but he quickly cleared his throat and moved on.  
  
“Clearly he felt guilty to have left without an academic motivation, so he had hoped  
to grade some papers on the tube. He didn’t, even if the attempt tells us your hotel  
is quite far, isn’t it?”  
  
Victor gave a small laugh. “It’s hard to find cheap accommodation in London, you  
know?” He finished his tea and placed the cup back on the tray. “Well, bull’s eye. You  
got everything right, thought I didn’t think you wouldn’t. Your turn, then. Tell me  
about you.”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You already read the papers.” He took a sip from his  
tea.  
  
“Yes, and they are completely dull.” Victor smirked. “I could almost hear you  
complaining because of the _lack of the logical sequence of events_.”  
  
John laughed. “He does a great impression of you, you know,” he told Sherlock with a  
grin before casting a knowing glance at Victor. “Almost the exact thing the tells me  
every time I read him a news story.”  
  
Sherlock looked away, his cheeks slightly pink, and Victor smiled in an apology. “Your  
blog is a lot better,” he said after a moment. “I read everything on there. But I wanted  
to hear some of them, well…” He cleared his throat, looking at Sherlock. “Directly  
from you.”  
  
The detective stayed silent, but Victor went on. “That one about…what did you call  
it? _The Geek Interpreter_? That was…well, amazing.”  
  
“You said it,” John smiled. “Sherlock stopped me from writing the funniest bits, but  
you have to hear about—“  
  
“Oh, for god’s sake, John, _again_ with that costume story?” Sherlock scoffed.  
  
“Well, it was funny, you know—“  
  
“There was no need to inform everyone at Scotland Yard.”  
  
“I think there was.”  
  
“It’s called _disguise_ , John—“  
  
Victor’s eyes were sparkling as he laughed; he seemed to be the perfect audience for  
their stories. Sherlock, who, at the beginning, only corrected or silenced John about  
‘ _excessive information_ ,’ eventually took up the story in first person, leaving John  
smiling and observing the two old friends’ discussion.  
  
Sherlock would tell Victor a story, and Victor listened. As the stories came one after  
the other, John noticed the detective’s cheeks getting more and more pink with  
excitement, and his eyes lit up with a sort of wild, bright joy whenever Victor spoke.  
  
When, after hours of conversation, John stood up to order take-away, they hardly  
noticed. John glanced at the two of them, knee-deep in a heated conversation,  
imagining them as teenagers, late at night, having the same discussion in their  
dorm room.


	3. Dinner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor chuckled hesitatingly. “I mean, what sort of mood is he in? Happy and Excited for Some Unknown Reason, Fine Me Something to Do Before I Blow Up the Room, or…?” Grinning, John glanced at his flatmate.

###  _Chapter Three – Dinner?_

 

It was nearly noon when John’s mobile rang, vibrating noisily on the table. Sherlock  
had been locked in his mind palace since that morning and didn’t notice.  
  
John stood with a sigh and answered the call, only glancing briefly at the screen,  
illuminated with the name Victor Trevor. Not surprising; they had exchanged  
numbers the day before with the promise of staying in contact.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“John?” Victor sounded halfway uncertain. “Are you busy?”  
  
“No, it’s fine,” John replied, walking to the kitchen for a bit more privacy. “Go ahead.”  
  
“Yes, well…” He paused. “How is he?”  
  
John frowned, not entirely sure what answer Victor wanted. “Fine, I guess. I mean,  
the usual pain in the neck, but you know.”  
  
Victor chuckled hesitatingly. “I mean, what sort of mood is he in? Happy and Excited  
for Some Unknown Reason, Fine Me Something to Do Before I Blow Up the Room,  
or…?”  
  
Grinning, John glanced at his flatmate. “I’d call this one Too Deep In Thought to  
Notice Anyone’s Existence.”  
  
“That bloody mind palace,” Victor snorted under his breath. “Well, thanks. I guess I’d  
better wait to talk to him, then.”  
  
There was a disappointed tone to his voice. It could have been nothing, but it piqued  
John’s curiosity, and he couldn’t help but ask. “Why? What do you need to tell him?”  
  
“Well, I just wanted to see if he was up for—“ Victor cleared his throat. “Dinner out.  
Just to…talk, of course.”  
  
“Oh.” John turned to Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair, hands steepled under his  
chin, eyes closed. “Yeah, might be best to wait.”  
  
“You think he’ll say no, don’t you?” Victor asked suddenly, his tone slightly bitter.  
  
John chose his words carefully. “Well, it’s not really…his thing. Dinner out, I mean.”  
  
“You think I don’t realize that?” Victor signed in resignation. “I just couldn’t think of  
another way to do it.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
Victor waited a beat before replying. “He didn’t seem too happy to see me  
yesterday.”  
  
“He just doesn’t like to be caught unaware,” John said quickly. Defending Sherlock’s  
casual rudeness had become second nature to him. “Taken by surprise, that sort.”  
  
“Yes, of course.” Victor seemed distracted, almost unconvinced. “Anyway, I wouldn’t  
mind just…talking with him for a while. Dinner seemed a nice way to do it.”  
  
John thought for a moment, his mind working as quickly as possible. His eyes stayed  
trained on Sherlock as he spoke. “You know what? Go ahead. Ask him. I’ll take care  
of it, even if I have to physically kick him out of the flat.”  
  
Victor sighed in relief, and John knew he’d done the right thing.  
  
“Thank you, John,” Victor said cheerfully. His smile was almost audible. “I owe you  
one.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? I’ll finally be able to have a proper, quiet dinner, just me and a  
match on the telly. We’re already even.”  
  
Victor laughed. “Sure rare occasions are worth more than gold, aren’t they? See you  
later, John.”  
  
It didn’t take long after John hung up for Victor to spring into action. Sherlock  
walked into the kitchen immediately afterward, acknowledging John’s presence long  
enough to claim his lunch and his mobile to ring with a new text.  
  
John glanced at the detective as he stared at the bright screen before looking away.  
“Not going to read it?” he asked with a frown.  
  
“Don’t need to.” Sherlock looked down at his mobile again before resting his chin on  
his hands. “Victor. Made a reckless decision, acts without thinking, then regrets it  
later and wants to discuss it. He has always behaved that way; he wouldn’t change in  
a thousand years.”  
  
John couldn’t help but smile, which made Sherlock frown questioningly.  
  
“You know him well, don’t you?”  
  
Sherlock looked away, standing up from his armchair and heading toward  
the kitchen. John was right.  
  
“I know him well enough to avoid a dinner that would consist only of apologies and  
remorse,” Sherlock replied distractedly. He grabbed a packet of crisps from the  
cupboard and threw himself back into his chair.  
  
One thing Sherlock seemed to forget was that he was talking to John. He could tell  
when the detective was acting nonchalantly on purpose, and this happened to be  
one of those times. John sat down in his own chair and leaned toward him with a  
grin.  
  
“You don’t have to be a dick all the time, you know,” he said, raising his eyebrows.  
“You _did_ enjoy his company yesterday. You might as well let him know.”  
  
Sherlock snorted. “Are you two honestly plotting behind my back now?” He fiddled  
with his mobile, avoiding John’s gaze.  
  
“Maybe.” John leaned back in his chair. “What do you plan to do, then?”  
  
Sighing, Sherlock opened a new text. His eyes lit up, and he stood, adjusting his  
jacket, lips curled into a smirk.  
  
“I plan a very lonely and boring evening for you tonight.”  
  
Hm. It had been relatively easy, even though Victor’s text had done most of the  
work. John grinned, pleased with himself, as Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, too, but the damn writer's block is the curse of me. Trying to be more punctual for the next one~  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The white entrance. The glass door. He walked past them both and turned his head; he knew precisely where Victor would be sitting, the third table on the right: and there he was. To his dismay, Sherlock was still able to deduce him perfectly, with just a glance.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Three steps. Sherlock remembered them well, and he climbed them slowly, matching his  
pace with his heartbeat.

The white entrance. The glass door. He walked past them both and turned his head—he  
knew precisely where Victor would be sitting, the third table on the right—and there he  
was.

Half-hidden by the wall, Sherlock spent more time than would be acceptable examining  
Victor, who was looking out the front window. To Sherlock’s dismay, he was still able to  
deduce him perfectly with just a glance.

Victor was nervous, but looking forward to the dinner. He was expecting everything to  
work perfectly that night—he’d moved the wine bottle twice and kept adjusting the  
napkin in the two small minutes Sherlock had been watching him.

Not to mention to care he’d used to dress himself…

Sherlock took a step forward, away from the protection of the wall. Victor looked up, and  
the moment he saw him, all the tension immediately faded from his face, and he gave  
Sherlock a wide smile that brightened his eyes. Sherlock took a shallow breath before  
walking to the table and taking the seat in front of Victor, trying to keep his expression as  
unreadable as possible.

“Oh, you actually came.” Victor set his arms on the table, leaning against them. “I was  
starting to worry.”

Sherlock remained still. “How could I not?” he replied simply, managing to keep his gaze  
fixed on Victor’s eyes.

“Oh, well.” He smiled apologetically. “Sorry to have dragged John into it. Guess it  
wasn’t entirely fair.”

“When have you ever played fairly, Victor?” Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Caught me,” Victor smirked. He reclined back in the chair, appearing far more  
comfortable than Sherlock.

He hesitated. Sherlock wasn’t sure that he wanted to be the one to bring up old times, but  
he felt the urge to get it off his chest, and, after all, waiting was both illogical and  
counterproductive. His voice, however, was strangely low when he finally spoke.

“I wasn’t talking about John, anyway.”

Victor’s eyes shined for a moment, but he kept his tone calm. “Mn?”

Sherlock allowed a smile to play on his lips before picking up the menu, on the front of  
which was emblazoned in gold leaf the name of the restaurant. ''' _L'entranger_ ', 36,  
Gloucester Road, Kensington. Again, how could I not come?”

The smile on Victor’s face grew, and his eyes sparkled even more. “You remember,” he  
said cheerfully.

“I always had a very good memory,” Sherlock replied with a small frown.

“And a very strong habit of erasing whatever you don’t care about.” Victor’s gaze shifted  
as he looked away.

Sherlock smiled. ''Were you testing me?''

Victor looked up, grinning. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he replied, seemingly  
relieved.

A few moments of silence followed. Sherlock caught himself fiddling with the menu still  
in his hand, and he quickly put it back. Since Victor didn’t seem willing to say anything  
else, he finally spoke again.

“Why this place?”

Victor’s smile dropped. ''I thought you said you remembered,'' he said slowly, frowning.  
“I do.” Sherlock gave him a once-over. “It was the end of May; we had dinner here. Just  
once. If you wanted to have a… sentimental reference to our years together, you should  
have picked the ‘ _Jamies_ ,’ where we first had dinner together, or ‘ _Harris & Hoole_,’ our  
last meal together. But you didn’t. So, why here?”

Victor smirked, clearly pleased by Sherlock’s accuracy. “So you remember our dinner  
here, then?” His voice was soft, reminiscent. “It was much like this one. Me nervous  
about having asked you out, even if we’d had dinner together a thousand times.”

“And I was wondering what was wrong with you,” Sherlock added, smiling. “Yes, I  
remember.”

Victor laughed. “Yeah, must have been sort of weird for you. The thing is… that was  
supposed to be—“ He paused. “A special night.”

Sherlock furrowed his brows. “I don’t remember anything relevant about that dinner,” he  
said, his speech slowing just slightly.

Victor’s cheeks tinged pink. “Of course you don’t. At the time, I was too much of an idiot  
to actually say what I’d planned on telling you. And I spent my whole life regretting it,  
wondering what might have happened if I’d been just a bit more brave.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as Victor spoke, and as much as he tried to stop his brain from  
working so quickly, he couldn’t help the sudden rush of questions as he examined  
Victor’s expression: relaxed eyebrows, tension in his posture. Important news? How  
important? How was it related to him? How relevant could it be after all this time?

At the other side of the table, Victor drew a deep breath. “Sherlock, I… I don’t want  
anything from you. If it bothers you, you just have to tell me. We made different choices;  
we’ve lived our lives, and what happened, happened. But what I’m asking you now, it’s  
just—”

Sherlock’s heart sped. Victor looked up at him, eyes open wide, worrying his lips  
between his teeth.

“If that night… Sherlock, if that night I’d told you that I wanted to be with you for the  
rest of my life, and I wanted to know if you felt the same, what would your answer have  
been?”

Sherlock blinked. His brain seemed to go blank, and as he stared at Victor with his mouth  
half-open, the word flew out before he was able to stop it.

''Yes.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very, very sorry for the delay in updating this fic. My writer's block completely hold me back from writing a single words for weeks, and I didn't want to forcefully write a chapter that was more likely to be horrible. Endless thanks to everyone who stuck with this story 'til now, to all the people who commented or left a kudos, it really kept me from giving up with this.  
> Anyway, I hope the waiting was worth with it! The last chapter will arrive -promise!- some time soon in the next week.  
> Thanks again for reading, and a thousands thanks to **redherring** , who basically beta'd this at the speed of the light.  
> 'Til next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to **redherring** for beting!


End file.
